A Winter's Tale
by slipper-rose
Summary: History often repeats itself... as Claudi discovers with the help of a mysterious friend.
1. Default Chapter

A Winter's Tale  
  
Chapter One: Liara  
  
The snow fell, fast and soft, feathery flakes swirling on and on from an expressionless sky. Walking down the hall to the library, I paused by a window to watch the flakes sift under the eaves and pile up on the ledge. They stung the window panes with cold kisses. The world was blanched and frozen, the sky an oppressive pewter-gray, and still the snow fell, like a silent lullaby that lulled the word to a cold sleep. Or a least a drowsy wakefulness, as all activity in the palace had slowed to a creeping, sleepy pace with this first heavy snowfall of the season. Though the window looked out over the central courtyard, not a soul was to be seen, not on the pathway that circled the now frozen fishpond, nor the on balcony that circuited the entire yard. The snow piled up, fresh and unmarred, and the courtyard fountain stood at the very center like a stony sentinel, frosted with pearly trim.  
Turning away, I continued down the hall, my feet pattering on the stone floor, footsteps tapping timidly at the thick silence. I reveled in it. Usually at this time, in the late afternoon, the tapestry-hung hallways echoed with the laughter and footsteps of courtiers on their way to promenade in the courtyard, or crossing the palace to and from calls. Everyone, no matter how casual an acquaintance, required a greeting and a curtsey of varying degrees of warmth and depth. One should never leave their rooms expecting to take a mere stroll; we move about the castle as players on a chessboard, with our specific range of movements and our formality.  
I rather wonder sometimes if we are not all pawns, the bishop, the rook, the lot of us, all moved about by our own silly rules.  
My mind was full of a line of poetry as I rounded the corner and approached the double doors of the library. Something about light-propound- snow.  
A serious-faced servant bowed and pulled the doors open for me. All day snow fell/ Snow fell all night. The doors closed behind me; like a moth caught in the draft I was propelled deep into the library, to the great empty space around which all the shelves were centered. I tip-tapped across the green and white tile to the very center, suddenly reduced to a mouse that wishes to scurry amongst history, darting between legendary figures, giants of our memory: I, an insignificant intruder, for a brief space in Time.  
I moved to the nearest bookshelf, brushed my fingers across the leather-bound spines packed so relentlessly row-by-row. I waited for the terrible weight in my chest to drop away, but no relief came. Oh, my books. You have always managed to help me.why not now?  
A little bit of the hope which I had felt upon entering the library ebbed away, and I grabbed a red leather-bound book, a sort of talisman against the depressing thoughts which threatened to invade me. Leafing through it, I wandered into the next room, ducking under the red gold- embossed tapestry, stopping once by the tall, rectangular window. Peering through the blurry glass, I could just make out the corner of the fishpond. There lay the gray, opalescent ice, like a prison door. Were there fish? I like to think that the fish lay sleeping underneath, frozen in Time, weaving dreamily through the waterweeds, and that they gleamed like jewels under their encasement of ice: fiery, red-orange gold fish, smoky crayfish, carpe striped like topaz, or with pearly scales flushed with rose quartz pink.  
Slowly, my hand crept up my bodice to my heart, felt it beating there. Oh, I felt so cold inside, as if I were turning from the inside-out into on of the twelve snow princesses. First, my heart would freeze into a vaulting chamber of glassy ice. Then my breath would slow and frost, the surge of blood in my veins become a cold trickle, my throat become so tight and cold that words would die before they even left my mouth, and I would spend most energy struggling to stay awake between the breaths that allowed life in. And then-as I believed it then-my heart would shatter, and the shards would fall, clink, clink down the icy cavern.  
I smiled, shaking my head. "Stop your romanticizing," I whispered mockingly.  
It was a beautiful image, though.  
The snow lay like a plump pillow on the ledge. My silent lintel/silted white. my mind's voice intoned.  
Before the window stood a desk, a very handsome one with a scroll- back cover and gracefully curving sides. It was unclear who exactly used the desk, as it was always locked shut. But today, the cover had been pushed back to reveal many tiny pigeon-holes stacked one atop the other, with beautiful cloisonné glass ink bottles lined at the head of the desk. One bottle was unstoppered. The quill pen lay gently balanced atop its rim, and a few papers were neatly stacked beside. One page was crammed with looping, urgent writing, the other page only half-finished. I should have moved away; my proximity to the desk could be misconstrued, but I lingered, alternately reading my book and glancing at the half-finished letter. What sort of courtier would leave his or her personal papers lying in the open? It showed a general trust of humankind, tactlessness. or just plain stupidity.  
The minutes dragged into hours, and still the snow fell. Glowglobes flickered into being as the sky darkened, and night closed in on my fastness. The chiming of the bluebells passed, signaling the end of the dinner hour, and the world seemed to transform into one of hushed shadows, rosy light, and rushing snow.  
Ten minutes after the bluebells rang, a sudden sound made me jump. Apprehensively, I raised my head and listened to a soft tap-tap-someone walking in the adjacent room-and I gently closed my book ad inched away from the desk. The tapestry was flung aside, and a young woman entered, her skirts rustling noisily.  
She seemed intent on the desk, but upon catching sight of me, she stopped, saying, "Oh. I didn't know someone else was here."  
Was it just my imagination, or did dismay flash across her eyes? She gestured towards the desk. "You don't mine if I."  
"Not at all," I said politely, and retreated to the other side of the room, immediately opening my book so that she would not feel inhibited.  
She knelt down on the black, gold-trimmed cushion, pulled the paper towards her, and began writing. Soon the only sounds in the room were the scratching of her pen across the paper and the faint sighing as I turned pages. But sometimes she coughed, a dry cough that stabbed at the silence, and I noticed that she wore a heavy silver and blue shawl draped round her shoulders; perhaps the cough was the last sign of a sickness. She bent over her letter, pen scrawling line after line unceasing, and I admired the rapidity and continuity of her thought. She could not have been much older than me, perhaps one or two years older, though somewhat small in build. Nevertheless, despite her thin wrists and jutting collarbones, her dress had been tailored perfectly to fit her: An emerald green dress tapered snugly at her waist, then billowed out in long, whispering folds. A silver lace overdress dipped below her shoulders to clasp under her bosom, parting again and trailing over the green skirt. I glanced at from time to time, observing, but she seemed absorbed in her letter, and gradually I too became immersed in my book.  
After awhile she pushed the papers away and turned to look at me, watching me turn the page with eyes the color of her dress. I glanced up expectantly from my book, but for a moment she didn't say anything, only smiled. At last she tucked a lock of hair-it was a burnished red color, very long-behind her ears and said, "I am sorry. I cannot write for very long with someone else in the room unless I talk to her. There is something so intimate about a library.and about writing letters.I feel that I ought to share whatever compels me to be here.Besides, I don't believe I have seen you anywhere before-" She broke off, coughing, but took a deep breath, shaking her head fiercely. "Sorry. As I was saying, I haven't seen you anywhere before, and you look like a nice person."  
I smiled at her quaint speech and friendly manner. "Nor I you," I said. "Are you new here, then?"  
"Yes, relatively."  
"My name is Claudi," I said, curtseying.  
"And I'm Liara," was the reply. We both smiled at each other, mutually pleased by what we saw and heard. She turned back to her letter, and I picked up my book again, but instead of resuming her writing she stacked the pages-they were finished, I could see, glistening with her energetic scrawl-and began folding them. Reaching for a wax wafer, she said, "That is done. And glad I am that it is, for it so much needed to be written. Harol will be expecting it, and I've never missed a day yet." She sighed. "But I need to write it for myself as much as for him. I miss him so terribly." A little bit of the coldness returned. My mouth puckered. Wrapping my hands around my book, I attempted to say nonchalantly, "Is he. are you two betrothed?" "What, Harol? No!" She laughed, or tried to, before she began coughing. "Harol is my brother. We are no more than two or three years apart, I the older. We are very close." She looked sad, turning a little towards the window. "I miss home and Harol and all the younger children, but my mother won't let me return home because of. Well, you know." I smiled sympathetically, but didn't say anything, for she did not look as though she wanted to hear any pitying words. There was a pause; she stared out the window, and I was about to return to my books, when she said suddenly, "Do you have any brothers?" "No. Only one sister, Damara. She is but five years younger than me." "That's right. You must be from the estate in Rosehall. Your mother is the countess, I believe?" I nodded, though somewhat puzzled as to how she knew. "And you?" "Oh, I'm from the mountains," she said, rather vaguely. She stood up, shaking her skirt until the folds fell into place, and taking up her letter, she said: "I'm afraid I must leave you now. This cough, you see. Mama will be all nerves if I don't reappear soon." I nodded. She looked at me with a strange expression on her face, then said, "I would like to get to know you better, though. You seem.I don't know, like a kindred library spirit. like someone who moves easily in the book-air." I smiled, recognizing in her awkward words my own thoughts. "And I would like to know you," I said warmly, standing up and taking her hand. "There is little chance of me being at social gatherings," she said, "but I often come to the library in the evenings, just to be alone." "Of course," I said. She coughed, moved towards the door. "Good evening." And she ducked around the tapestry door. She was such a strange, proud girl-proud, yet spontaneous. And a book friend, no less. I smiled, returning to my book. I read late into the night, until the bells for white change rang accusingly. Mother would be returning from her meeting with his Majesty; I had just enough time to scurry back to bed. Bleary eyed, I slid the book back between its shelf mates and moved out into the empty, cold hall, skirts hush-hushing wearily behind me. Outside, the snow still fell lazily down, down, down, as though Time had paused over the courtyard. I rubbed my eyes, blinking and yawning. Down.down.down. 


	2. Letters, Tea, and a Ball

Disclaimer: I realized right after I posted the last chapter that I had forgot the disclaimer, so I will start off with it right away: Remalna is the creation of the all powerful Sherwood Smith, as are all her characters, etc., etc., though none of them make an appearance in the story, as it is set many generations after the adventures of Meliara.  
  
Also, the poem which Liara recites is the work of A.S. Byatt, the author of Possession, which I heartily recommend. Byatt is a brilliant author whose works, I believe, shall someday be found in the classics shelf at the library, alongside Dickens, Austen, and James.  
  
For those of you who think the story is a little vague, I apologize, and I will try to clarify things, though a bit at a time. Claudi is the daughter of Lady Vanessa, a descendant of the Chamadis line who married Garth Aris, the owner of an estate called Rosehall in the South of Remalna. Liara is related to Meliara, I will tell you that, though she is not her daughter. My paragraphs in the last chapter were horrendously long, but I can only refer you to modern technology, which likes to take an unpardonable liberty with my work.  
  
Chapter Two: Letters, Tea, and a Ball  
  
I awoke to the sounds of Mama moving in the next room, pacing before the bay window as she sipped her morning cup of tea, the first of as many as ten, which she would drink throughout the day. All of our family are tea drinkers; in fact, the tea herbs which Rosehall tenants grow in their gardens make up for almost a third of our total revenue each year, though it has only been in the last decade that Mama has made sure that the tea is packaged and shipped to most of the major towns and ports in Remalna.  
  
I lay still for a moment, collecting my senses and trying to subdue the pounding in my head. Never again, I vowed, would I stay up so late again, though I knew that it was an empty vow. Gradually, I was able to sit up, and I pulled the bell rope, summoning Lina, my maid. I had managed to heave myself out of bed and stagger to the washstand, where I was splashing water on my face, when Lina arrived.  
  
Her eyes widened with dismay as I raised my dripping face from the water. "Oh, my lady. If you had only waited, I might have warmed it for you!"  
  
"No matter, Lina," I said, though I hissed through my teeth. The water was cold. "Just-please-set out my green morning dress-No, the one with the dark green piping-and my green garters."  
  
I wrestled into three petticoats-no daughter of Mama ever wore less than three in the winter-and Lina laced me into the dress. Afternoon and morning dresses are complicated things; first I shrugged on a white blouse with voluminous sleeves, fastening it with a drawstring. The ends were tucked into a fourth white petticoat embroidered with cotton lace at the hem. Over this was fastened a dark green skirt, and finally, Lina laced me into a waist, a stiff, ribbed bodice of the same material as the skirt. Once I was certain that every strand of hair was in place, my petticoats aligned, and my garters secure-for Mama hated to see any sign of neglect of personal appearance, even so early as this-I crossed the passageway between our rooms and joined her.  
  
Mama was standing before the ceiling-to-floor length windows overlooking the gardens, cradling a delicate teacup in her hands. She seemed lost in thought, but when I entered and sat down at the table, she turned around and smiled.  
  
"Good morning, dear one," she greeted me, kissing me as she knelt on the cushion, settling her skirts around her. "You slept late."  
  
"Oh.what time is it?"  
  
She raised an eyebrow. "We are well into second gold."  
  
I shrugged, picking up a roll and splitting it in half, but she frowned and said, "You weren't up late, reading in the library, were you?"  
  
"Yes," I admitted.  
  
"You might have come with me to the concert. I will not lecture you this time, because it was not obligatory, but your absence was noticed. I was hard put to think up an excuse."  
  
"Why didn't you tell the truth?" I asked.  
  
Now both eyebrows were raised. "Don't be impertinent. Of course I couldn't admit to Lady Carintha that you were lurking in the library.again. People will begin to think that you are a recluse. or that you are snubbing someone."  
  
I winced, but fortunately Mama had picked up her teacup at that moment. And her mind seemed on the track of the horror of being a recluse. She watched me over the rim, blinking the famous blue eyes that people said were so much like her ancestress, Tamara Chamadis.  
  
She set down her teacup. "Now, I have said this a hundred times," she persisted, "and I do not mean to say it any more than once again. You cannot continue sneaking off to the library. You are so much like your father, the gods rest his soul, in that. There is to be a dinner tonight at the Charibdis Residence which you must attend, and after that there will be many midwinter gathering-balls, teas, dances-which you will attend."  
  
Mentally, I told myself to count to twenty. I concentrated on buttering my roll.  
  
Mama frowned. "Claudi?"  
  
I sighed. "All right. Agreed."  
  
My mother, in true Chamadis manner, is used to getting her way, and she does not discriminate between goals outside the home and mutinous children; the least hint of anyone not agreeing wholeheartedly with her makes her defensive, and no one is allowed to rest until she feels that she has stamped out all insurrection.  
  
I stood up. "Is there anything else you require my presence for?"  
  
She shook her head, her expression telling me that she understood very well what I was implying. "No, dear. Just be here and dressed by first blue change. But your are not off to the library already, are you? One would think that you were attached to it by a string."  
  
"Good day, Mama."  
  
She shrugged, picking up teacup and saucer.  
  
Once in the hall, I hurried in the direction of the library, twice encountering friends who were venturing out into the snow. They invited me to join them, but I shook my head- no, I was headed to the library to research something. for the masquerade ball?. yes, something like that. but would I not join them afterwards?. yes, perhaps I could.  
  
I checked the library, hoping to find Liara, but she was not there, so I retraced my steps to my rooms and changed into my wool stockings and gloves. Pulling my cloak around my shoulders, I joined my friends in the courtyard, where we behaved as little children, romping in the snow and building snow castles and such. Afterwards, as we tramped back to our rooms, Lady Kiera joined me.  
  
"Did you find what you were looking for in the library?" she asked.  
  
"Yes.yes, I did." I looked down at my gloves, which I held crumpled in my hands.  
  
She shook her ice-speckled curls. "What do you intend to go as?"  
  
"Go where?"  
  
"The masquerade ball, of course. At the end of this month. Given by the Duke Savona. The City Ball Room at third blue. There, does that jog your memory, silly?"  
  
"I am going as a schedule book," I said dryly. "So that way I will not forget."  
  
She laughed. "Really, what shall you be?"  
  
"I haven't decided yet. And you?"  
  
She shook her head excitedly. "No, see, that was what I wanted to discuss with you. If you haven't decided already, would you consider joining me in a group? I thought that we might all dress up as the bells of Time: one, two, three, four, and so on. There are to be twelve of us, of course: Lady Kitrina, Lady Carole, the Duchess elect Alise, Lady Bethira, Lady Tamri, Lady Margari, and oh, I can't remember the others. Alise is selecting them. You and I shall make two more, and then there is the Countess from Tlanth, and that will make. nine in total."  
  
"The Countess of Tlanth?" I asked. "This is the first I have heard of her."  
  
"That's right. You weren't at the concert last night, were you? She was introduced to us then. Where were you, anyhow?"  
  
I looked down at my gloves for the second time, smoothing out the wrinkled fingers. "I. had a cold, and I thought that I should rest, in the library."  
  
"Of course," she said teasingly. "In the library! But you must meet the Countess, for she is extremely charming, and very interesting. Her quaint speeches remind me very much of you. I believe that she is already a general favorite. It is very sad that her illness should have prevented her from coming to Court sooner."  
  
"Her illness?" I said, thinking of Liara.  
  
"Yes, she has been suffering from a cough for quite some time now. It is nothing very serious, but the healers have recommended that she not exert herself too much." She frowned, but only for a moment. She nudged my hand. "So.?"  
  
"Yes?" I looked up, surprised.  
  
"Will you join us in dressing up for the masquerade?"  
  
"Yes, of course." Having my costume decided would take a great deal off my mind. I smiled. "Schedule book, Time bells. all the same. I will still, with luck, remember to come."  
  
She laughed. "I will not let you forget!"  
  
We had reached the door to my rooms. I removed my cloak, folding it over my arms. "Are you going to the dinner at the Residence tonight?"  
  
"Yes." She curtseyed, a mere dip, as we had been friends for as long as we had been at Court together. "I shall see you there, then." She turned and walked down the hall in the opposite direction. I ducked under the tapestry. Lina stood up from the chair where she was darning stockings and divested me of my wet things.  
  
"Three letters came for you, my lady," she said, taking my gloves and boots.  
  
I nodded my thanks, moving towards the small, circular table where the letters lay. Sitting down on my bed, I pulled the table a little closer.  
  
"Shall I fix you some tea, my lady? Perhaps some hot chocolate?"  
  
"Yes! Thank you, Lina," I said gratefully. Lina had been my personal maid since I was twelve, back at Rosehall; she knew exactly when I needed my tea or chocolate. Picking up the first letter, I slid my finger under its flap, breaking the seal. Curly, elegant handwriting bloomed on the page:  
  
My dear Lady Claudi,  
  
It would be the greatest pleasure to see you at my dwelling tomorrow at third green for tea. It is to be a mere friendly gathering around the fire, and we would benefit most greatly from your presence.  
  
Your humble servant,  
  
Lady Fionara, Baroness of Kedral  
  
Before reading the next one, I moved across the hall into Mama's room. On her letter table as well was an invitation in the Baroness' hand.  
  
"My lady?" Lina called from my room. I hurried back and accepted the china bowl that she handed me. The next letter was an invitation from one of the ladies in the Duchess Alise's circle for a sleigh ride; I set this one aside, by the Baroness' letter. The third and final letter was written on creamy, blue-tinted rice paper, of the kind that is produced in the southern provinces, the area of Remalna which I call home. I did not recognize the handwriting.  
  
Dear Lady Claudi,  
  
Your presence is greatly desired at a dinner and dance, to be given at my place on the third day of the month, at second blue. My husband and I would be honored if you would come. I have taken the liberty of inviting several of your friends, as well as many mutual acquaintances.  
  
Yours respectfully,  
Lady Sophy of Port Menderith, Countess  
  
Oh dear. I set letter down, still staring at the small, precise script. Frowning, I reached for my chocolate, almost upsetting the bowl. This was exactly what I did not want; so far I had managed to avoid being anywhere in close company with the Menderith family, in particular with the Menderith son.  
  
Derric. For as long as I could remember, I had loved Derric Kheridris, the oldest son of the Countess and Count of Port Menderith, but I'm afraid that he has never had the opportunity to consider me romantically, because we grew up together, our parents being very close friends. My father, gods rest his soul, was a business partner of the Count, as well as the Count's chief lender of books. We used to dine their frequently, when I was young, but after Papa died, Mama and I have visited them but rarely. Derric always seemed to be away when we called. In the past year, I have seen him frequently at Court, but we have rarely exchanged more than three words. I'm afraid he never regarded me as any more than a family friend, an annoying girl that he had to put up while his parents talked with her parents.  
  
I couldn't blame him for keeping his distance now; the last time I had had close contact with Derric was when I was thirteen and he was fourteen, when he had rubbed my face in the snow because I had mocked him.  
  
I smiled, and grimaced a little, as I lifted my chocolate bowl again. I did use to tease him, mercilessly, when I was small, I admit. And now, the old habit seemed implacable, for the colder and more distant he becomes, the more reckless I become. So I have promised myself that no, I will not disgrace myself anymore; the best thing to do is to avoid him.  
  
I shoved the Countess' letter, along with the others, in my desk drawer as the bells for second green rang. Of course, I would have to go, or else it would appear a blatant snub, but the thought of perhaps disgracing myself in his own Residence did not excite much anticipation.  
  
"Lina!" I called.  
  
She came in from the next room. "Yes, my lady?"  
  
"Would you please lay out my pink dinner dress? Not the rose one, the one with the gold flower pattern and lace. And my blue sash, please. If Mama asks for me, please tell her that I am in the library, but reassure her that I will be in time."  
  
Lina smiled, just the tiniest bit, as she curtseyed. "Yes, my lady."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
I moved down the hall to the library, as though-just as Mama had suggested earlier-I were attached to it by a string, that constantly tugged at me, and like a puppet I were compelled to follow. 


	3. Dinner at the Residence

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Sherwood Smith, whose beautifully constructed world of Remalna I cannot hope to simulate as successfully as I should wish.  
  
Okay, here's a query for anyone who want to answer: how do I add on chapters to this story, as opposed to continually posting chapters as separate stories? If you haven't guessed already, I'm a little technologically challenged.  
  
Chapter Three: Dinner at the Residence  
  
I was late. I had tried not to be, but one time change before the bells rang for first blue I had found a history of the Pirate Wars, which proved to be entirely engrossing, and it was only with difficulty that I was able to tear myself away.  
  
"Where have you been?" Mama demanded. "No, don't tell me; I know perfectly well." She brandished her fan. "If we are late tonight."  
  
"Coming, Mama!" I dashed behind my screen and tore at the laces of my dress. Lina whisked around the screen to help me, carrying my dinner dress. I jumped out of my shoes while pulling the pink, gold-patterned skirt over my petticoat. Lina laced the bodice.  
  
Mama rapped on the screen. "Claudi Aris, I am giving you to the count of three to come out! One-"  
  
Lina knotted the sash around my waist. I stepped into my slippers.  
  
"Two-"  
  
Tripping around the screen, I flew across the room to my vanity, snatching up the brush and running it over my hair.  
  
"Three."  
  
Somehow, I ended up in the hall, with my hands still fumbling with the catch of my gold chain. Mama shook her head. "Well, it's a start," she said dryly. She tugged at my sash to straighten it, pulled a lock of my hair over my shoulder. She herself was dressed splendidly in a dark violet dress spangled with tiny gems. Her dark curly hair was bound in a loose roll at the nape of her neck, three beautifully carved roses of jasper nestled in place where her hair coiled into the roll.  
  
Me, I inherited none of Mama's good looks; I tend to take after the Aris side of the family, my Papa's side. I do have Mama's curly dark hair, but my nose is a little long, and my eyes are not blue, but a strange blend of gold, green, and brown. My sister, Damara, has the same eyes and hair, but she has the perfectly modeled nose and tiny hands and feet of Mama.  
  
The Denlieff Residence sparkled in curtains of snow, against which pools of pink and blue light from the glowglobes that floated above the walkway mixed. The ambassador's wife greeted us as we walked up the steps.  
  
"My home is yours," she murmured, in Denlieff custom.  
  
"May the seasons look favorably on it," Mama replied, taking the woman's hand. I curtseyed, and we moved into the room. The long, rectangular room was decorated with many tapestries, between which glowglobes shone in scones, casting light on the paneled wood floors. In the center of the room stood a marble fountain, and all about the room could be heard the musical trickle of water from secret streams hidden in alcoves behind artfully arranged plants. Courtiers stood in small groups about the room, conversing.  
  
After Mama and I had made the rounds, greeting acquaintances, I joined Kiera in the corner, where she shared a bench with the Duchess Alise. Slender, with yellow-hair, Alise was no more than three years our superior in age, but she had come into her title early in life, on account of her father's death. Since then, she had naturally become a leader of our circle.  
  
Kiera was smiling. "We have found three other girls who are willing to dress up as bells," she said excitedly. "Lady Tamri has volunteered her dressmaker."  
  
Alise nodded. "Yes, Claris is a treasure." She extended an arm. "She made this dress." We admired the violet and deep blue dress, with its decoration of snowstones sewn to fashion tiny flowers around the hem and neck. "Lady Margari has a few ideas as to the costume; she proposed that we meet at her residence to plan with Claris. If you would prefer to bring your own dressmaker."  
  
"No, Claris is wonderful," I assured her. "But how do you propose that we dress up as 'time bells?'"  
  
She spread her hands, marking each time change with a finger. "There are four Time phases: gold, green, blue, and white, with three changes to each. That makes twelve. Three girls will wear gold, the next three green, and so on."  
  
"And we shall wear other decorations," Kiera added eagerly, "to denote dawn, morning, afternoon, and night." She smiled. "You shall be Night, of course, with your dark hair. I should like to be Night, but."  
  
Alise shook her head. "No, no; you would look much better as afternoon, with your red-brown hair and fair skin. I want you in particular to be afternoon, for no one else quite looks the part."  
  
"And just think," I added, "you might persuade Geral to masquerade as a forester. That would look lovely next to your fawn and green colors." Geral was the young lord with whom she had been twoing for the past three months.  
  
Kiera smiled, but did not say anything. Alise waived her fan, looking about the room, then suddenly straightened and said, "Look who has come!"  
  
Turning, I saw Liara at the door, talking to the ambassador's wife. The ambassador's wife dropped her hand to greet other guests, and Liara walked into the room, looking about her. On catching sight of us, she smiled and made her way towards us. She curtseyed, sweeping back the skirts of her forest-green dress.  
  
"Good evening," she said.  
  
"Good evening," replied Kiera kindly. Touching my arm, she said, "Claudi, may I introduce you to the Countess of Tlanth, Liara Astiar?"  
  
Liara smiled at me. "We've met before."  
  
Kiera looked at me, puzzled. "Why didn't you tell me so this afternoon?"  
  
"I didn't know," I said. "We met in the library last night, but she never mentioned that she was Countess of Tlanth.  
  
"I thought that you had a cold," Alise said, frowning, but Kiera shook her head at her.  
  
"Forgive me," said Liara. "I must greet the others. It will be seen as a slight if I do not." She curtseyed again, smiling warmly.  
  
"Let me go with you," said Alise, rising and taking her arm. Kiera and I exchanged smiles, for it was obvious that Alise had selected Liara to be her protégée.  
  
Not long after that, the ambassador's wife invited us to dinner, and we joined the procession leading into the dining hall. A long, low table stretch from one end of the room to the other; unlike at most embassies, the Denlieff ambassador did not follow the Empire custom of sitting on chairs; instead, guests still knelt on silk cushions. The dinner was excellent, served on the curious, almost transparent china for which Denlieff was famed. Down the center of the table at intervals stood vases with long, fluted necks of jewel-like glass, but instead of flowers the vases held globes of light, which shone through the glass as if the vase- makers had trapped the moon, thus lighting the table.  
  
After dinner, servants in the stiff tunics customary in Denlieff offered us coffee and pastries while we listened to a duet of two manderal players.  
  
During the interval between songs, Liara, who sat next to me, said, "Do you read in the library often?"  
  
"Yes." I smiled. "As often as I can. I'm afraid it always seems too short a time between my arrival in the city and when I must leave this library for my more modest one at home."  
  
"Shall you be there tomorrow?" She said this slowly, and I realized that for all of her easy manners, she was shy.  
  
"Yes. Would you care to join me? I should very much like to talk with you more. Will you come in the morning?"  
  
She shook her head. "No, I cannot. But what about the afternoon? Second gold?"  
  
"I believe that would be all right." The first manderelist thrummed a chord, seemingly subduing the room with the soft, vibrating notes as every one hushed. Liara smiled before she turned around, and I closed my eyes, leaving myself completely vulnerable to the music's charm. 


	4. Derric

*disclaimer: Sherwood Smith is god. I am not. Simple as that.  
  
Thank you, thank you, all reviewers who helped poor, little, technically- challenged me in learning how to upload chapters. Thank you one and all for your reviews; they motivate me, though they also scare me, because it means that I now have expectations to meet. Definition of a writer: poor, crazy little human being that has a fatal attraction to attention, money, and food; usually suffers from the delusion that others want to hear what she or he has to say.  
  
I am so sorry about the delay! For the past five days, relatives from California have been visiting, and you all know how impossible it is to write when the house is overflowing with people. I'm afraid that I have, as a result of the delay, lost track of the story, but I will try to return to it.  
  
Chapter Four: Derric  
  
"What exactly is the significance of Liara Astiar?" I asked Mama the next morning. Stirring sugar into my teacup, I added, "The Duchess of Grumareth, among others, was very eager to recognize her last night, and then there was the compliment the Denlieff ambassador paid to her.. "  
  
At her desk, where she was writing instructions to the steward back home, Mama set down her quill. She looked at me, eyebrow raised. "That is exactly why you cannot stay away from events open to the general Court. If you had attended the concert, you would know that Liara Astiar has come to court as a result of the death of the last Count of Tlanth. She is now heiress to the county, which rather-ah-ties her up in matters of the Crown. His Majesty paid a direct compliment to her; he invited her to sit by him, in the front row."  
  
I blinked once, instead of allowing my eyes to widen, for Mama did not approve of allowing emotions to escape the Court Mask.  
  
Mama nodded. Picking up her pen, she ran her fingers down the silky feather. "It seems," she said, staring out the window, "That Lady Liara is of greater political importance than any of us have realized. Before, she was the only daughter of a lady descended from the Astiar line through the third daughter of Count Braniaric. Now Liara's mother, Celinthia, is the only surviving member of the Astiar family."  
  
She looked at me. "If the King does not marry, the Lady Liara Astiar will be third in line, after her mother and another cousin of the King."  
  
"There is nothing in her manner to suggest it," I said. I shook my head. "She always seemed so unassuming. I mean, when I met her in the library she was even reluctant to reveal her full title. But of course she had to be someone of importance- why else would the Duchess pay so much attention to a newcomer?"  
  
Mama smiled, lips curved ironically. "Now watch the games of political vying begin. People see that Liara Astiar is young, and therefore impressionable; they will do their best to ensure that they leave favorable impressions that will be remembered when she ascends the throne."  
  
I frowned over my tea, thinking regretfully of the friendship which I might have had with Liara. It is difficult to establish a close confidence to one who is wooed so persistently by the entire Court. "Politics," I said with disgust. "I am certain that very few of those people will even value her friendship."  
  
"Liara Astiar may or may not see the truth behind the flattery," Mama said. "That is up to her. But as third in line to the throne, she must be very careful."  
  
"Of what? Her image? Or the friends she makes?"  
  
"Both, I imagine."  
  
"If she is third in line," I said, "then why not- why has she not been recognized more formally? With her connections, obviously, she ought to have been introduced at a ball given by his Majesty. And why has she not come sooner?"  
  
Mama shrugged. "Difficult to say. That family-the Astiars-were never known for their love of Court, or of their willingness to acknowledge their connection to the Crown. The countess elect should have made her debut much earlier, but I believe she could not be convinced to come to Court. And lately there has been talk---"  
  
But here she broke off, shaking her head slightly. Lifting one shoulder as she picked up her pen, she turned and bent over her letters.  
  
"Talk of what?" I persisted, but she shook her head, still leaning over her letters.  
  
"Enough, child. If you are so eager to learn gossip, you would do best to partake of it first hand-at Court."  
  
I knew when to retreat, and I returned to my tea, cupping my hands around the cup, warming my fingers. A little pool of amber liquid had settled in the bottom of the cup; I swallowed, tasting the last bitter traces of orangeroot herb, before setting down the cup and departing for my own room. There, I selected a book from the shelf over my desk and settled down on the cushions before the window.  
  
In the hall, the bells for third gold chimed. I had agreed to meet Liara in the library at second green; would she still be the same unassuming person that I had met in the library two nights ago? Of course, it was silly to think that she would so rapidly change, but how could I trust myself to act easily around the heir to the throne? A friendship with a Royal was precarious, and I had not yet even given Liara the chance to prove that she was not immune to the attentions of the Duchess and other ambitious courtiers. Why initiate a close friendship if she were likely to drop me like a dull book for more exciting, flattering, and wealthy friends?  
  
It really didn't matter, I told myself, forcing my wandering thoughts to return to the book in my hands. I turned the page, skimming the introductory note: Explanations of a Peculiar Case: the Treaty that Twisted the Fate of an Empire. Peculiar, indeed. But things might yet work out; Liara might prove to be the sort who could live a double life, singing to the Court and talking sense to me, if only I could remain in the shadows behind the curtain.  
  
As it turned out, I did not meet Liara that day; shortly after third gold, as I was considering talking a walk, Lina handed me a short note, written on a crisp sheet. In her urgent, looped scrawl, Liara presented her apologies, but said that she regretted not being able to meet me in the library on account of a severe cold. Would I mind if she postponed our meeting to some day? I sat down and quickly wrote a reply, assuring her that I did not mind at all, though I felt a sense of foreboding and not a little disappointed. Was she snubbing me already? Nevertheless, I wrote, Sending many wishes for your better health. Yours sincerely, Claudi Aris.  
  
I handed the note to Lina, then put on my cloak and gloves. A walk seemed even more inviting now, a chance to stretch my legs and gather information.  
  
Very few people were out, though the air seemed to have warmed, and the sun was a weak, watery glare in the sky. Halfway down the avenue leading to the Residencies, I met Kiera walking up from the gardens with another acquaintance, Lady Maryle, a pleasant, dark-haired girl whose subdued appearance gave no indication of her lively spirit. Kiera invited me to join them in walking up and down the street before the Family Houses. The paths there had been swept already, she explained, though her eyes were narrowed with suppressed merriment, for she and I both knew that Geral of Khialem would likely be returning from the Gymnasium, where many of the lords and ladies gathered as an alternative to the outdoor exercises of racing and boating during the winter months.  
  
We made our way up towards the Residencies, talking of music and the concert the preceding night, passing between the long rows of argan trees, whose bark was now a mottled, somber gray. A small stretch of woodland hid the tall, impressive mansions from view. The Family Houses were built around the perimeter of Athanarel palace, a tiny city within the city of Remalna. The two finest were at opposite ends, the one belonging to the almost forgotten Merindar family, and the other to the Chamadis family, my mother's cousins.  
  
Kiera linked arms with Meryl and me, and we began strolling up the path towards Merindar house, very slowly. She looked at me with eyes dancing with amusement, but somehow she managed to speak sedately. The conversation turned to the manderalists at the Denlieff embassy. Lady Meryl spoke enthusiastically of the performance, praising the players' finger technique, to which praise Kiera and I could only assent, as neither of us could boast of a great proficiency in music.  
  
"Their articulation of phrasing was so precise," Lady Meryl said. "Did you see how they plucked the strings and shaped the phrases with their wrists?" Her own hands danced in the air.  
  
Shivering, I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders. "I did notice, especially in the last piece. The smaller woman kept snapping her wrist at the end of the phrases."  
  
"Exactly so!" She turned to me, eyes glowing. "She used that motion to create the bright staccato sounds that you heard. That particular piece is from the last era, when it was popular to imitate sounds of nature. I am sure that you observed the ripple-like sounds imitating water, and the quick trills that imitated the song of birds."  
  
"How interesting," murmured Kiera. At the same time, her hand squeezed my arm, nudging me forward imperceptibly.  
  
Looking up, I saw Geral walking down the path, accompanied by a group of friends, all dressed in the gray tunics and leather vests of practice cloths. Several of them wore long, thin foils at their sides. There was a long barrage of compliments, pleasant greetings before it was decided that the gentlemen would accompany us back to the Residence. Geral immediately joined Kiera, offering her his arm, while Meryl took the arms of Lord Kirk and Lord Liam.  
  
I moved to join the others, but suddenly I sensed someone stepping close to me, and I looked up, and there was Derric, standing a little before me. He had been standing behind the other three before, and I suppose that in all the bowing and curtseying I had missed him.  
  
"Good day, Mistress Aris." He bowed. I curtseyed, suddenly in danger of tripping over my feet.  
  
"Good day, indeed, Lord Derric," I said, and because I would otherwise stare at the ground, I forced myself to look directly at his face. He was very tall, at least a head taller than me, and his shoulders were broad. His features were strong, his eyes brown.  
  
Aware that the others were already well ahead of us, we began walking. He did not take my arm.  
  
We walked a few paces before he said awkwardly, "Somehow, Fate or invitation cards or crowded rooms have lately deprived me of the pleasure of seeing you."  
  
"Oh," I said. "I would wonder that crowded rooms provide such an insurmountable obstacle." I was angry, and a bit mortified, that he had made no effort to talk to me all season, and only now seemed to feel the need to patronize me when there was no other company.  
  
He did not have a reply to such a startling outburst, only looked grave and clasped his hands behind his back.  
  
"Tell me," I said, "How is your mother?"  
  
"She is very well."  
  
"And your younger brothers?"  
  
"They are very well also, except for young Hyken." He smiled at me. "He is at present studying history, and finds it agonizingly dull."  
  
"Well, there I can offer no sincere sympathies," I said, smiling. "To me, a person who does not find history wildly entertaining is as incomprehensible as snow in summer. When I had a tutor, poor Azkor could never direct my mind back from history to mathematics or rhetoric. My mind was always wandering in the siege at Port Akeri, or the adventures of General Haffnor."  
  
"You studied the Pirate Wars extensively, then?"  
  
"Oh, no." I shook my head. "I just spoke any name in my mind. I just happened to come across a record of the Pirate Wars recently, that's all."  
  
He only nodded. The conversation seemed to be lapsing, so I said, "Have you read it?"  
  
"I beg your pardon, but read what?"  
  
"The record in the Athaneral library. It was written fifty years ago, almost a century after the wars, by a scribe from Rensaleus."  
  
He frowned. "No, I have not. But I have read the account by the Fellowship of the Tower. I'm surprised that you did not find it in the Athaneral library."  
  
"As am I. I should very much like to read it," I said eagerly. "I had no idea that-"  
  
"I have it."  
  
"Oh." I paused, looked down quickly, adjusting my gloves. Did he think that I wanted to borrow it? I hated him to think that I-I wasn't quite sure what I did not want him to think. I looked up again, but he was occupied in his own thoughts now, withdrawn behind a polite, distant mask. We had caught up to the others by now, and were approaching the entrance through the formal gardens to the Residence. Eager to retreat to my rooms, I quickened my pace, soon joining Kiera and Lady Meryl, with Derric walking slowly behind me.  
  
The long barrage of mutual compliments began again, and then Kiera and Meryl and I curtseyed and began walking up the stairs. I heard my name called, and after urging the others to go on without me, I turned back around the corner.  
  
Derric was standing outside, in the entrance to the gardens. "We shall see you the next fortnight?" he said.  
  
What? My mind raced, skimming over teas, parties, and dinners until I remembered the Kheridris dance. The invitation to which I had not yet replied. Was he hinting at my rudeness?  
  
"Yes!" I replied abruptly. Then, blushing, added, "Thank you. Forgive me. Blame my lack of persistency."  
  
Shocked at my own words, I made an involuntary motion with my hand and looked away, at the others. Apology was impossible, so I only bent my head and fanned myself meekly.  
  
Derric mumbled a polite reply, as distant and unperturbed as ever. I felt my temper rising; goodness, did nothing disturb him? Then he was gone, leaving me feeling very confused indeed. 


	5. Tea at the Baroness' and an Unexpected G...

disclaimer: If you didn't know at first, you have probably guessed by now that I am not Sherwood Smith, and I do not own the characters and places of Crown Duel. My brilliant writing fooled you at first, right? (I wish!)  
  
There is going to be a lot of fan language in this chapter.  
  
Chapter 5: Tea at the Baroness' and an Unexpected Gift  
  
"Lady Liara! How pleased we are that you could come. We were beginning to fear that you never would."  
  
At the Baroness' words, I looked up from my tea glass to see Liara standing under the spectacularly carved door of the Baroness' parlor. Her reply was lost in the murmuring of many voices, but the Baroness took her hand, and guided her over to the fire, her words becoming more distinct as they drew nearer.  
  
"Oh, but I insist, my dear," she was saying. "Come! You must obey me in this. Sit down by the fire and let me fetch you a tea glass."  
  
"You are very kind," Liara murmured. The Baroness waited to see her charge settle on one of the cushions before the fire before hurrying to the refreshment tables.  
  
Lady Alise, Kiera, and I looked at her expectantly, fans waiving. She was dressed in a green waist, with a beige skirt embroidered at the hem with vines the same green as the waist. A tiny gold and emerald pendant swung on her neck.  
  
Liara addressed us all charmingly. "Greetings, Lady Alise. Lady Kiera. Lady Claudi."  
  
She smiled. "I would curtsey in the appropriate manner, but I fear that our hostess would not look kindly on the dismissal of her orders."  
  
"We are glad to see you so well recovered," I said. I picked up my fan, hesitated, but circled it in the gesture of Wondrous Occurrence, at the last moment bringing the fan down in Happiness, softening the blow.  
  
Liara's face revealed nothing, but while Lady Alise talked she whirled her fan in the gesture of Appreciation, then Understanding. I smiled and nodded, though while I sipped my tea I wondered uneasily if her sudden appearance after her claim to have been ill was any indication of her character. Was she to be trusted, or were Mama's words all too true?  
  
But she smiled and chatted pleasantly, graciously accepting the glass of tea that the Baroness' pressed into her hands. Baroness Fionara sat down on the cushion beside her, scooting her rose-pink skirts out of the way, and began plying her with questions about the journey from Tlanth. Were the roads conducive for traveling? she wished to know. Did she witness any extraordinary performances in music or dance at the inns along the way? (For during the winter, bards and traveling bands often signed on as temporary residents at the more prosperous inns, promising performances in exchange for shelter.)  
  
Mama was sitting at the other side of the parlor, conversing with two countesses who held property in the South like us. Reaching for her tea glass, she saw me sitting with Liara, and bringing her fan up to her face, very slightly raised her eyebrows.  
  
When the Baroness at last stood up, and made her way to another group of guests, Alise leaned forward, her fan languidly waiving in the mode of Confidential Invitation, and said, "We had hoped, Lady Liara, that you had decided which costume you prefer for the ball. More matters on you than the beginning of the ball."  
  
Liara spread her hands in acknowledgment of the compliment. "I would not be so bold as to choose. Night, Dawn, Afternoon-arrange it as you will; it makes no difference to me. However I fit into your plans best, that will please."  
  
"Let us ask Lady Margari," Alise suggested. "Perhaps you did not know, but she is designing the gowns. Her sketches might aid in settling your mind."  
  
"Or befuddle it," Liara said. "I have heard much of Lady Margari's skill. I fear that seeing all of her drawings will only confuse me more."  
  
Whatever one might suspect of her long absence from Court, there was no doubting that she knew how to please.  
  
"You need not fear," I said, smiling. "We are with you in all things." I fluttered my fan in gesture of Impossible Feat, then jabbed it upwards in Victory, ending in a position of query, which earned appreciative laughter from all.  
  
"Steel your mind to the task," I encouraged, laughing.  
  
Our hostess walked to the center of the parlor, then, announced that a poet-reader from Erev-li-Erval would entertain us with Okanni, a cycle of poems joined by one theme. Two servants in blue and gray tunics moved a stool into the center, followed by a small man with a snub nose and bright blue eyes, very startling eyes. He perched himself on the stool, clasped his hands in his lap, looking down while everyone hustled to arrange themselves on the cushions which the servants now led us to.  
  
In the bustle, I found myself behind Liara; and taking advantage of the noise, I leaned forward, tapping her shoulder lightly with my fan. Startled, she turned around, but smiled.  
  
"Have you become such a courtier so quickly?" I said quietly, teasingly. "I should have hoped that you are hardier than us, coming from the mountains of Tlanth, and do not find decisions so wearying."  
  
"Ah, yes," she said, smiling. "The infamous legend of Court: where no one need ever make a greater decision than whether to wear diamonds in the hair or rubies on the toes. The public's opinion of Court has not changed greatly since the days of Galdran the Greedy; as a reader of history, you know how slowly change comes about."  
  
"There are stories about the more despicable decisions," I said, "involving courtiers grappling for power. For example, whether someone is telling the truth or not. But we at Court at least know that that is not the case." I meant to keep my tone light, but she looked at me quickly, frowning.  
  
At her side, her hand moved slightly, positioning her fan in the mode of Friends. Slowly, she angled it into the query mode.  
  
I nodded, and the worried expression in her eyes faded away. It was ridiculous And I for one, I told myself, as I turned and arranged my skirts around me, was not going to allow doubt and suspicion to ruin a friendship.  
  
The light of the glowglobes began to fade into rosy pools of light that spilled onto the carpet, flickering on the intricate designs of red, green, and black; and, looking up, the reader began to speak, very softly, in a hushing, whispering voice. It was a poem about the wind, rushing over the river, on a night just before spring would dawn. The reader was a skillful one; with his gentle, soft voice, roughened with just a hint of hoarseness, he captivated his audience; the lords and ladies sat still, fans barely flicking.  
  
Liara was smiling in genuine pleasure, the corners of her mouth verging on a smile, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She hovered on her cushion as though she were not used to containing her emotions before such a large gathering. The other lords and ladies sat and listened like children learning their poetry from a tutor; she was living it.  
  
There were some things, I realized then, that I believed very deeply ought to be kept free of the grasp for power that seemed to dominate Court; mistrust of other's intentions ought not to spoil them. One of these was love, and the other friendship.  
  
Liara did not refer to the incident of the morning again, but she did suggest as we walked back to the Residence that we meet in the library the next day, either in the at noon or the evening. This time, it was her fan that whirled in the gesture of Confidential Invitation. I agreed. She illustrated one word only with her fan: Trust.  
  
When Mama and I reached our hall, she offered to share hot chocolate with me, but I refused, for I did not want to hear any lectures on the advantages and disadvantages of befriending Liara Astiar. Bidding her good- night, I retreated into my rooms.  
  
And discovered something lying on the little table in the parlor where invitations and letters usually waited.  
  
I moved closer, and looked down at a long, rectangular package, bound in blue linen. There were several letters under the package, but I did not look at them.  
  
Setting aside my gloves, I picked up the package, pressing my fingers along the edges, and discovered to my delight that it was a book.  
  
A book? From whom? I had not ordered one. Eagerly, I unfolded the linen and slipped the book out into my hands. It was covered with dark brown leather, and tooled with an elaborate sign on the front, quite thick in my hands. I opened it, turning over the first stiff pages until I found the title page. In large script, it read: The Pirate Wars, as recorded by msrs. Alcan and Jorled Hanor, on commission by his Majesty, the King. For no reason, I looked up, scanning the room. The Pirate Wars? But I-just this morning I had-  
  
I turned the book over, and sure enough, in the bottom corner, was the sigil of the Fellowship of the Tower: the tower, cupped in two hands, against the rising sun.  
  
Well, I had to think about that. I sat down, belatedly realizing that even though the gift did not excite feelings of pleasure or gratitude, I still held it. I picked up the book again, turning it over this way and that. I will not deny that I felt the tiniest bit of a thrill in thinking that Derric had sent it, had remembered out talk. But this was all so baffling. Why, when he never showed any interest in me?  
  
Was there a note? Perhaps that would explain.  
  
I found it in the very back of the book, tucked securely into the binding. One line only.  
  
If you read it, and find it interesting, have you any suggestion as to how to convince Hyken that history is not agonizingly dull?  
  
I did not know what to think. Did he want my advice? But was this not only a mere gallant gesture? It was not unlike him, or many of the lords at Court. If I had expressed an interest in the book, then why shouldn't he, as a considerate gentlemen, lend it to me? Oh, why couldn't this mean something! I sighed, reading the line over again. Tomorrow, maybe, I would write a reply. I feared that now I would betray myself in some way if I committed words to paper.  
  
Right now, I set the note on my desk, away from sight under the blotter, and picking up the book, began to read.  
  
A/N: Okay, okay. I know that Claudi's discovery of the book is like-very like--- Mel's finding of the ring. All I can say is. history repeats itself. 


End file.
